Don't Close Your Eyes

On Sunday my baby turned 14. You know how people tell you when you have a newborn, “Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it”? It’s true, of course. One moment your sweet, cuddly baby looks like this:

Hospital Picture

Ethan and Allyson

And then she’s thinking about things like nail polish.

And then she’s starting school, and she’s so smart and sweet and kind that you can hardly bear it. You just want to squeeze those cheeks and plaster that face with kisses, but already she won’t let you.

First Day of Preschool

The next thing you know, she’s in middle school. She’s busy with soccer and volleyball and track and homework, and the rest of her time goes to her friends. 

That’s when you wish you could’ve stored up those delicious snuggles, when you get lonely for the lovely young woman who still lives in your home yet feels worlds apart sometimes. 

Me Enjoying a Delicious Snuggle

But then...

Just when you’re getting dizzy from the relentless passage of time and the frenetic pace, the world grinds to a halt overnight. Enter COVID-19 and the quarantine.

On the last day of spring break, I cried when we received the automated phone call about the schools closing. We were driving home from the last bit of the old normal after a short vacation at the Hideaway Ranch, which Allyson hadn’t seen since she was three.

Allyson Riding Apache at the Ranch

Allyson and Ethan's Friend Donald (He's on Apache)

“I get the feeling that the world will never be the same,” I said. Allyson shrugged and nestled her face into the pillow against the back window. Within moments, she was asleep, but tears slid silently down my cheeks for many miles. I’d scarcely started back to work after five months of illness, and the last thing I wanted was to be confined to the house again. 

I had no inkling of the silver lining. There was no soccer practice, no church, no sleepovers with friends, nothing but Zoom meetings and work on our computers.  Out of our shared boredom, a new camaraderie bloomed. We did things we hadn’t done in years:

• walks in the park
• bike rides
• card games
• baking
• videos and popcorn in my bed (or popped sorghum, for me)

Best of all, through all of this, we talked. Many days, the best walk that I could wheedle out of Allyson was one circle around the big field in the park. But sometimes… just sometimes… we made a second, third, or even fourth circuit while we conversed about topics like God, time, and politics.

Even as I had watched Allyson’s metamorphosis from a little girl into a beautiful young woman, now I had the joy of seeing her mind unfolding before my eyes. My girl was a thinker, just like her big brother.

Our deepest conversations came in the days after George Floyd’s murder. A friend had described the video to me in detail, and I refused Allyson’s suggestion to watch it because I couldn’t bear to watch a man die. Instead, I prayed for all of them: George Floyd’s loved ones, Officer Chauvin, and the other officers.

Normally, I’m blissfully ignorant about most of the bad news in this world. We don’t have a TV, and I’m too busy with all the cooking and kitchen cleaning that comes with my special autoimmune diet to pay a lot of attention to social media or Internet news stories. To be honest, I prefer to remain in the dark. I have enough troubles of my own, and I’d rather not be burdened with even more problems that I have no way of solving. 

But Allyson doesn’t let me hide my head in the sand. She was the one who told me about the protests, the riots and looting, and the eruption of violence on both sides that made my stomach upset over and over.

From the first day, she staunchly supported the protestors, and even sympathized with the rioters. “Martin Luther King said that riots are ‘the language of the unheard,’” she said.

“That doesn’t mean he supported riots,” I replied. “He was absolutely opposed to violence, always. I think he meant that riots are the natural consequence when people feel like they have no voice.”

“Still, the protesters are on the right side,” she persisted. 

“But it seems like every time there’s a protest, it turns violent,” I argued. “They have to realize that violence perpetuates the negative views that they are trying to change.”

“The violence is usually on the police’s side,” she said.

“I doubt that,” I said quietly as I dropped a handful of yesterday’s silverware into the soapy water. “There’s probably more to the story.”

“Watch the videos, Mama. The police usually start it.”

I drew in a deep breath as I scrubbed dried food from a pot and then handed it to Allyson to rinse. “All I know is that it feels like we’re heading toward anarchy. It’s so dangerous to be a police officer. They don’t make enough money to risk their lives daily for people who hate them. What if it gets so bad that nobody wants the job? Then what will happen?”

She shrugged as she handed the pot back to me. “You missed a spot.” Then she said, “I wish I could protest with them.”

“It’s not safe.” My reply was automatic.

“I know, but I would if I could.”

For the remaining minutes until the microwave timer signaled the end of dishwashing time, we talked about why people fear others who are different from themselves, and why they are sometimes too comfortable to speak up against injustices.

That reminded Allyson of a movie she’d watched with her dad recently, a Holocaust satire called JoJo Rabbit, about a ten-year-old boy obsessed with becoming a Nazi.

“We should watch it,” she said, stacking the last plate in the broken dishwasher to dry just after the timer sounded.

“Yes, let’s do that soon.”

“We should watch it tonight.”

“But it’s 9 o’clock,” I said.

“Oh, come on. The movie’s not that long.”

I remembered my sister-in-law Diane’s advice that teenagers are like cats; you spend time with them whenever they come to you, even if it’s midnight. That’s how we ended up side by side on my bed in front of the computer screen at 9:15 on a work night. The movie was at once hilarious and heartbreaking, lighthearted and melancholy. I can’t say I liked it, exactly, but it touched me.

The pivotal moment was seeing a group of Nazi resistance workers left hanging in the street. From JoJo’s perspective, only their feet are visible, in business shoes and high heels. JoJo starts to turn away, but his mother takes his chin in her hand and lifts his head so that must look at them. 

When the movie ended, we didn’t move from our positions against the headboard for a long time. First, we shared our opinions about the movie, and then we shifted back to the conversation that had lasted through dinner, our evening walk, and dishes. 

“Times like these, I wish I could have been born in a different time,” I said. “I know we don’t get to choose, but-”

“How can you say that?” she interrupted. “You grew up in the best times.”

“You’re right,” I said wistfully. “There were no wars for decades, and the economy was flying high. And it was just a gentler time. I wish you could have experienced the world before social media, before cell phones. You can’t even fathom what it was like, but before everyone was so connected, we were connected with the people right beside us. 

“But now, it feels so dark. The economy is terrible, and we’ve ruined the environment, and there’s all of this unrest…”

“What do you think will happen with all of the protests?” she asked.

I sighed heavily. “I can’t imagine that anything will change. It’s been this way forever, and you can’t make laws to change people’s hearts.”

We were silent for a bit, and I felt as if a heavy cloud had settled over us, all but ruining the joy of an entire evening spent with my daughter.

“I’m sorry for being so honest,” I said. “I know I’m the mom, and I’m supposed to tell you everything is going to be alright.”

“Mmm,” she replied.

“I’m not that worried about the near future,” I clarified. “America has always been resilient. We’ve gotten through lots of hard times. I just wonder how much worse things can get. I’m concerned for you and Ethan’s children and grandchildren.”

“That’s not helping, Mama.”

“I’m sorry.” I searched my mind for something positive to say, something “excellent and praiseworthy.” 

“Remember the last time my Hashimoto’s flared up back in 2015?” 

“A little.”

“I guess you can’t remember because you were, what… nine? Anyway, I lost a lot of weight just like this time, but that time, I battled the worst anxiety. Sometimes I feared I wouldn’t survive it, but you know what saved me?”

“What?”

“Scriptures. I couldn’t remember what was true, or who I was. So I told myself to cling to what I knew to be true. That’s when I stuck all of the sticky notes up in the kitchen. I meditated on those all day, every day. Every time I felt scared. The anxiety didn’t go away immediately, but after a few weeks of meditating on scripture and following my autoimmune diet, I broke free of the anxiety.”

We lay in silence for another bit, and then I said, “So here’s what I know to be true: ‘And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.’ That is not just a memory passage, Allyson.” I choked on a little sob and wiped the tears from my cheeks as I went on, “I have experienced it all through my life. God really does work everything out for my good. He did during the divorce, and the first time I got sick, and now in all that I’ve gone through these past months.”

With that, our talk was over. “It’s almost midnight,” Allyson said. “I’d better get to bed.”

“Okay, but give me a hug first.” We stood in my doorway for a few seconds, holding each other tightly. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

After I’d followed her to her room and then stood impotently outside her door, berating myself for forgetting that my daughter is still a child, I retreated to my prayer closet. I unrolled the little braided rug that I use to cover the spot where our cat CiCi puked and knelt with my forehead touching the floor.

“Hold me, Daddy,” I whispered. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but my heart was too tired to really cry. For a long time, I just breathed. Then I said, “I’m sorry for wanting to live in a different time. I know that you ordained every one of my days before one of them came to be. I know your thoughts are not my thoughts and your ways are not my ways. I trust you. But please, let me feel you holding me while I sleep. Please help me to rest in you.”

I rolled up the rug and then sat in my special chair while I tapped out a message to Allyson.

Thank you for…
Walking and talking with me
Doing dishes and talking with me
Watching a movie that you had already seen with me and talking with me afterwards.
I will have lots to write in my gratitude journal tomorrow. 😘As I was praying just now, I thought about how these protests could change things. The answer is, very slowly. All of the meaningful changes and reforms have come through peaceful protest. Without those, women and black people couldn’t vote. You might be working in a factory 6 or 7 days a week. You would not be going to school with people of a different race. I know that God is good and His plans for us are good.
I love you and I’m so proud that you are a thinker and you don’t just accept everything you are told. I look forward to seeing the impact you will make on this world. ❤

Her reply beeped in just as I was silencing my phone and plugging it into the charger: “ily”

I stared at the screen blankly for a few seconds and then grinned. “ilyt,” I replied.

Minutes later, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Opening My Eyes

But for the next few days, my heart grew heavier and heavier. I followed my daughter’s advice and watched many videos captured by protestors. 

• I watched National Guard members throw canisters of tear gas into a quiet crowd nearly 30 minutes before the 7 o’clock curfew in Washington, D.C. 
• I read the story of a black man who was shot in the penis at point-blank range with a rubber bullet when a police officer did not recognize him as the sensitivity trainer for his own police department; despite reconstructive surgery, the man will likely be unable to father any children. 
• I saw two elderly white men knocked down on the sidewalk simply for being in the way. 
• I listened to the account of a black man who was hunted down and shot by a white man and his son because he was jogging in the evening in their neighborhood.

In the Sonic drive-through on Allyson’s birthday, we continued our conversation about the protests. 

Allyson on Her Birthday - Sorry So Blurry

I cried when I expressed my longing for spiritual leadership. “Your Uncle Rick told me on the phone the other night that he wished another Martin Luther King, Jr., would rise up to unite us. I feel the same way. I’ve been asking God for days what I can do, but I feel so helpless. Maybe I should participate in a protest.”

“No, Mama. I don’t think you want to get tear gassed,” she said, holding her palm out like a stop sign. 

“I know, but maybe-”

“You can speak up, that’s what you can do. And you can donate to Black Lives Matter, or another group.”

In yet another conversation in the car the next day, I told Allyson I’d like to write this blog entry. “The title came to me quite suddenly: ‘Don’t Close Your Eyes.’”

“That’s a good title. It reminds me of a line in ‘Strawberry Fields,’” she said. “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.” 

“Life is easier if you keep your eyes closed,” I agreed. “It’s easy to ignore problems that don’t seem to affect you.”

“But you can’t be neutral,” Allyson said. “I heard a quote that said when you’re neutral, you’re on the side of the oppressor. [Bishop Desmond Tutu] And if you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.[Heather Heyer, the victim of a hate crime]” 

Speaking Up

For the second time in a week, I’ve decided to take my daughter’s advice. I’m speaking up, right here. 

For years, I lived in my comfortable bubble, oblivious to the injustice all around me. Because I’d never personally witnessed anyone being mistreated because of their skin color, and because I saw the diversity in my children’s schools and noticed their complete lack of prejudice, I assumed that racism was now just a blight on our past. 

In the last couple of years, though, I’ve asked several black friends about their experiences, and their response was unanimous: racism is alive and well in America. All of them have experienced it, and all of them have had to give their kids The Talk about how to stay safe in interactions with a police officer. 

In the current unrest, I think the violence comes from both sides, and I don’t think it is possible to legislate the healing and reconciliation that is desperately needed. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to change the status quo.

In a joint sermon by Pastor Stephen Furtick and his friend, Pastor John Gray, Furtick recounted a conversation with his son. When asked how he felt about the current racial division, his son replied, “Hopeless.” 

Furtick said that the moment we decide a situation is hopeless, we’ve lost the battle. Neither pastor claimed to have any answers, but they agreed that it is time for us to acknowledge the problem and talk about it in our churches and in our circles.

I love my country, and it hurts my heart to think that my children’s generation can’t see past America’s faults to recognize how incredibly blessed we have been, and still are. I believe we have come very far, but we still have far to go. 

Maybe change won’t come from the top down, but from the inside out. It will come when we begin to really see each other, when we ask God to show us what He sees. It will happen when we stop looking for who’s to blame and start coming together to seek solutions.

I don’t want to be like the priest and the Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan, who turned their eyes away from the man lying broken in the road and went about their important religious business. Instead, I want to keep my eyes and my heart open, to see not only the needs around me but also the opportunities God is giving me to serve and to love.

I feel frustrated that my words can’t capture the sadness I’ve been grappling with, so I will close with some healing words from the Apostle Paul:

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.
Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. (Colossians 3:12-15)

That is my prayer for all of us. 

Are your eyes open? Will you tell me what you see?

P.S. Here is a list of websites that Allyson compiled, if you would like to volunteer or donate.

Petition - Justice for George Floyd

Racial Equality Tools - Youth Activism

Black Lives Matter